


Touch Starved

by anna_sun



Series: Lust [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fantasizing, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:05:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_sun/pseuds/anna_sun
Summary: Silver is having some private, quality time, when his imagination brings him places he didn't truly intend to go.





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the beginning of season one, when they're first on their way to Nassau! I imagine the trip took some time. 
> 
> This short fic is literally just Silver touching himself and I feel absolutely shameless about it. Enjoy!

The Walrus hadn’t set shore in three weeks, now. Going on four, to be exact, and their destination – an island, apparently – was only a couple of days ahead, _surely_ , but in Silver’s tired, impatient mind, a couple of days felt stretched into eternity. He could hardly even recall the taste of a legitimate quality hot meal, the scent of grass, or the touch of a woman, as if basic human senses and memories were being blown away from him with the wind against the sails, a little more each and every day. He simply wasn’t used to sailing, and even less so with Goddamn _fucking_ pirates.

None of them fully trusted him, either. They all stared at him with some sort of inexplicable anger in their eyes, as if they could sense in their guts that he didn’t really belong, and each time one of them fondled in their coat’s pocket, or reached for something behind their backs, Silver was already ducking behind a barrel. He lived in constant fear of being discovered and was never left alone. Sometimes, he even suspected the Captain had sent orders to everyone to keep an eye on him. Thinking about it more, he probably, definitely, had.

He could barely even find the privacy to take a shit on most days, so, instances where he could safely find one _special_ kind of release were – extremely rare. Silver knew it could grow practically painful, going on so long without it, and now, _now_ he was alone in the hull, near the back where he usually peeled potatoes and escaped glares from the men, and –

He had a hand down his trousers before he even stopped to think about it. At least it wasn’t like he’d came all the way down here for this – rum had been his first intention – but the idea flashed in his mind like a fucking vision, and now he had a palm rested flat against the inner wall of the ship, forehead cushioned by his forearm, as he looked down at himself. He was already hard and leaking. He bit down on a groan.

At first, he tried to think about women. Beautiful women, from back home, with nothing but lace and red lipstick on. He thought about soft skin and sweet curves and plump breasts. But the images were foggy, the scenes he was trying to create in his mind’s eye too vague and requiring too much focus and effort for him to really enjoy them, and so he signed, slowed down his movements, and took a deep breath through his nose.

He licked the whole of his palm before he went back to it, trying another tactic. He hadn’t fully realized how being surrounded by hardworking, muscular, and most of all, _shirtless_ men, for almost a month’s time, had truly affected him, until he honest-to-God just moaned, only thinking about it. Moments when Billy used all his might to grab and pull on rope from the foremast in the glaring, hot light of the sun, sweat rolling down the curve of his back, flashed behind his eyes. Instances where he was left star-struck by the men, incredibly drunk, wrestling in the sleeping quarters, practically naked and grabbing each other all over like it was nothing, had his breath grow shallow and his hand pick up its speed. How Silver wished someone would touch him, how starved he was for contact, he’d never really felt like this before.

He was close, when his imagination brought him places he didn’t truly intend to go. But, being real honest with himself, if there was one man on the ship he felt most attracted to, it wasn’t Billy, or any other he’d actually had conversations with. Perhaps he had an underlying weakness for people in positions of power and control, or he simply was a masochist of some sort, but _fuck_ if Flint wasn’t undeniably fuckable. With broad shoulders and a strong attitude and a lean body, with a gaze that screamed he could pound Silver into the fucking ground if he only wished to – yes, Silver didn’t intentionally start thinking about the Captain when he had a hand on his cock, but he sure as Hell wasn’t rejecting the idea.

He spat on his already wet hand before he grabbed himself at the base with a tight grip, slowly making his way to the tip and carefully swiping his thumb on the head once he got there. He had to stop looking and bite at the skin of his own arm, when he suddenly picked up his pace furiously, and the heat in his gut crashed much like waves against a ship’s bow. He started to think about Flint more shamelessly. He thought about the man’s heaving chest when he was done giving a particularly powerful speech, thought about his ass, about how the fabric of his clothing hugged his every curve perfectly when he turned around to walk back inside his cabin, and then he thought about _himself_ inside said cabin, thought about Flint undressing him and grabbing his biceps and his waist and forcing him around to push him face flat against a wall, and untying his breeches before he fell on his knees and – and –

He came in hot streaks and with a shout, never-ending and blissful, hips grinding and fucking his own fist when his moan turned into a low, guttural sound. He almost blacked out for a second, so good the relief was. God, _so good_.

Once it was done, he first felt relaxed, although a bit on-edge. He immediately started cleaning himself up, easily found a barrel of clean water and a rag, and hissed when he proved to still be extremely sensitive. It was a miracle no one had walked in on him already, but being caught after the act felt like it’d be almost just as bad.

His breaths were still heavy, and he still felt flushed all over, and yet he started walking around a while, before he finally found the very-next thing on his infinite list of cravings (life out at sea was everything but generous).

What he found was rum. Cheap rum, but alcohol nonetheless. He opened the bottle and chugged almost half of it in one go, smiling a crooked smile when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Maybe, just maybe, if he felt courageous enough, he could go and have a small chat with the Captain.

What was there to lose, except perhaps his dignity, or his life? 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always so incredibly fucking appreciated!!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


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